


insensitive

by JanaTearce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, CIPA (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) AU, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaTearce/pseuds/JanaTearce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim can't feel pain. At all. Sherlock is as worried as fascinated. Somehow they live together. Just a small snippet out of their life for Sheriarty Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	insensitive

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I did my fair share of research on this disease, so I decided to keep it general. What you need to know though is that while unable to feel pain, it also comes with the inability to feel extreme temperatures as well as the inabilty to sweat or cry and many other things. Also this thing is fucking rare. Jim's generally annoyed by all the things he has to look out for. Life could be so much easier, but it isn't. At least there's Sherlock.

“I can do that myself... you know,” Jim insisted just a bit sulky, when he felt Sherlock's fingers carefully prying his eyelids apart to check for scratches. He had done it countless times before, as a child with the help of brother and later on his own.

“Stop that.” Sherlock scowled, when he caught him biting his lip and Jim screwed up his face. Silently mouthing his complaint and having a hard time not to roll his eyes, because Sherlock was already at the other for the same meticulous procedure. “Open your mouth.”

And Jim did, but he folded his arms and glanced away when Sherlock examined his cheeks and tongue for any injuries.

“Mrhmph.”

Oh no. Jim couldn't help himself, his eyes widened a little. Whenever Sherlock made that sound it didn't mean anything good. Instead of speaking because Jim knew that would be a futile, he glanced up at Sherlock and made a questioning sound.

“You bit your cheek open, don't tell me you didn't notice that...” It wasn't actually a question, though. Sherlock knew perfectly well how Jim had noticed the copper taste in his mouth and simply hadn't bothered to say anything until now.

“Figured you'd find it anyway,” he replied. “Anything else?” When Sherlock shook his head, Jim allowed a sigh of relief. That was good. “So... we're done yet, are we?” Jim asked hopeful. “I already checked for bruises and scratches when I took a shower. Sherlock, please I'm bored.”

Of course Sherlock only creased his forehead and scrunched up his nose. “Are you–“

“Sherlock!” Jim growled. “I'm not bleeding, nor bruised, nor is there any broken bone in my body and my temperature is a comfortable average, so stop.”

For a moment Sherlock stopped to eye him with suspicion. “Fine,” Sherlock said at last. “What about your toe?”

There is some infinitely amusing about the fact that Sherlock out of human being tends to fret over him like a mother hen, when at the same time Jim repeatedly caught his gaze lingering on him in a mix of fascination and awe. “I stubbed it Sherlock, it's not likely to turn blue and fall off,” Jim replied with a grin as he followed him into the kitchen.

* * *

“Sheeeeerloooock!” his call echoed unheard through their flat. Annoyed Jim grimaced. He hated this. Whenever Sherlock wasn't responding he could never be sure if the other was merely in his mind palace or actually gone. Jim always hoped for the former.

He was also always frustrated with the former. Growling quietly to himself he shook Sherlock when he found him frozen, curled up on their couch. “Oh, c'mon Sherlock. I'm bleeding. Help me out here.” Jim tugged at his clothes. When there was still no response he took a step back and pressed his bloody sole to Sherlock's cheek, pressing whatever weight he could manage against his face.

“You're bleeding.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jim answered dryly to that observation. “I cut my foot on that damned ladder by accident and now it's bleeding like hell and won't stop and I also bled over like half of my equations and now I will likely have to write them again and I tried but I can't get a good enough angle on the cut to see if it's serious or not and– “

His rant was interrupted when Sherlock gently pressed a palm to Jim's mouth who went on to fuming quietly about it. By the time Sherlock came back, and much to Jim's amusement hadn't bothered to tiptoe around the bloody prints he had left on the floor, he was sitting on the stairs, his injured foot resting on his thigh. “I'm actually a bit dizzy,” Jim admitted when he rested his head on one hand, his elbow conveniently placed on his thigh.

“I saw what you did to your equations,” Sherlock groaned. “What did we say about blood?”

“I'm not five, Sherl.” Jim huffed. “I had to finish this.”

“You also made a mistake, so you'll have to rewrite it either way,” Sherlock mused smiling as he wiped the blood of Jim's foot.

“It was intentional,” he insisted, and watched as Sherlock took up needle and thread. “You're really lucky I can't feel that you know?” Jim smiled a little and wriggled his toes as Sherlock stitched up the cut.

“Sort of...yes. Though you are aware I'm doing this exactly because you can't feel it. You'll be constantly moving your foot and your wounds don't heal that well to begin with, so...”

“I get it. I get it!” It took a moment for the realisation to sink in though. “Wait. Does that mean–“ Sherlock wouldn't let him walk until he was sure the cut was healed and even the he would probably come running to check on his wound every three hours. Which was more annoying than adorable. “Nooo. Sherl, that's not fair. C'mon...” he wailed when Sherlock bandaged his foot and picked him up. “We'll turn this into an experiment all right? How long it takes to properly heal if you just let me walk. How does that sound.”

“Sounds like more bloody footprints on the floor.”

Jim groaned, yet he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and nuzzled into his shoulder. How he hated it. Though maybe it was all just bearable Jim thought to himself, when Sherlock kissed his head and he made himself a little more comfortable in the others arms. “At least show me what you're working on. You know I hate boredom.”


End file.
